The magic and the resulting international popularity of the once-forgotten Dutch artist Johannes Vermeer (1632-1675) was in his use of light, specifically the way he had it come pouring in through windows, illuminating the subjects in his oil paintings with a clarity that was just short of photorealism. Through the years, art scholars have gawked at and argued over his small output (he’s credited with 36 works), and many have asked, “How the heck did he do that?”

After reading a couple of books suggesting that Vermeer might have had a bit of 17th century technological help in making his paintings, Texas inventor Tim Jenison, who had never even picked up a brush before, began wondering about that, too. So he tinkered around, and created an optical device made of mirrors and lenses that allowed him to grab some paints and brushes, and just about perfectly copy a black and white photo of his father-in-law. Then Jenison set out to paint a Vermeer, to recreate what he hoped would be an exact copy of the complex, light-drenched study of a young woman and her teacher, titled “The Music Lesson.”

Things got complicated when Jenison decided it wouldn’t be enough just to use a print of “The Music Lesson” as a guide. The plan was to redesign and rebuild a warehouse space into a replica of Vermeer’s Delft studio, windows and all. That included finding or making objects that appear in the painting, and getting people, in costumes and wigs, to stand in for Vermeer’s models. Then he was going to sit down with paints, brushes, canvas, and that optical gizmo.

The idea wasn’t to debunk Vermeer. It was just to see if he could do what Vermeer did, in the way he might possibly have done it. At dinner one night a few years ago with his longtime pal Penn Jillette – the vocal half of the magician duo Penn and Teller – he was discussing the project, when a light bulb clicked on over Jillette’s head, followed by an excitable blurting out of something like, “We’ve got to make a movie of this!”

Apparently you don’t say no when Penn Jillette gets an idea. So Jenison got to building his studio, and learning how to grind lenses and mix paints, while Jillette, after a series of unproductive meetings with producers and directors, decided to take on producing chores himself, and convinced Teller, who has directed stage plays, as well as the Penn and Teller shows, to direct the film.

The result is a study in fascination, frustration, and obsession. There are chats with British pop artist David Hockney, who wrote one of the books Jenison had read, and with Jillette’s musician pal Martin Mull, who is actually quite a formidable artist. But this is mostly a film of Jenison at work in his small studio, encountering problem after problem, figuring out how to solve them, then painting and painting, and painting some more.

Page 2 of 2 - Nine cameras were on at all times, so there’s no Penn and Teller fakery happening here. That is really Tim Jenison putting the brush to the canvas, slowly and painstakingly getting the minutiae of Vermeer’s masterpiece, from the black and white marble floor, to the delicate flowers and seahorses on the virginal the girl is playing, to the busily decorative Persian carpet that covers a table.

Jenison takes his project very seriously, and he finds out soon enough that it ain’t easy. But there are plenty of opportunities for some humor to peek through, as when he picks up a viola da gamba that sits in the painting’s foreground, and starts plunking out “Smoke on the Water.”

So does Jenison succeed? Well, the title of the film gives a little something away, but the actual answer won’t be revealed here. What about Vermeer? Did he paint with a technological assist rather than just with his eyes? Does that really matter? Let’s leave it at this. Vermeer did, indeed, make all those works of art. Who cares how he did it! Jenison gave himself one rule to follow: “Paint what you see in the mirror.” He did just that. You’ll have to buy a ticket to find out how he fared.